


Impromptu Royal Rendezvous

by nana_banana



Series: Rendezvous [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ancient Egypt, Blindshipping, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, PWP, Puzzleshipping, Shameless Smut, Yuugi known as Heba, au-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nana_banana/pseuds/nana_banana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's night, the palace is quiet; Pharaoh Atemu should be crawling under his covers. However, he has no desire to retire. With a vague idea of what to do, the King of Upper and Lower Khemet condescends to pay his servant a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impromptu Royal Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

> I put dub-con as a tag because Yuugi can't actually say no to the pharaoh. But, rest assured, he definitely wouldn't say no even if he was allowed to. (He's totally on board with this!) I also changed Yuugi's name to Heba because, well, it's Ancient Egypt, so why not.  
> P.S. A shendyt is that cloth the ancient egyptians wore as clothing (just in case it isn't clear).  
> Please enjoy!

Night had fallen upon the palace. In the dark, the air was cool and sweet. The palace guards marched about the perimeter, checking for suspicious activity. Servants and Guardians slept soundly in their beds to prepare for another busy day. Not a thing was out of place. No one out of –

A rustle of clothing disrupted the calm night. A commanding presence roamed the silent halls, his bare feet making no sound against the stone floors. He walked with the stalking gait of a predator, like a lion after its prey.

The figure was clothed in nothing but his linen _shendyt_. His everyday gold was discarded from his limbs, leaving the man curiously naked yet not. The only decoration upon him was a golden pyramid. It hung inverted from a brown cord around his neck. The corners lethal and sharp; the Eye of Horus stood in stark contrast upon it. It glinted ominously, swaying as the man walked, deceivingly harmless with razor edges that did not bite.

He made his way down the corridors, his steps on a sure path. The lit torches lining the halls cast an alluring glow on his deeply bronzed skin. The glare of the fires reflected in his narrowed crimson gaze. He heard nothing but the susurrous crackle of the flames, and the occasional guard doing his rounds. A tense unease kept the man's shoulders taut, his pace heavy with wound up control. He expected someone, a Guardian or the royal advisers, to cross his path and plead for him to turn back. The man paused in front of the servants quarters, eyes closing in thought, his shoulders lowering only slightly in relief. He had come upon no one; to proceed or to turn back; the options hung tentatively in the air.

A gentle breeze came down the corridor, ruffling his linen and his hair. He used his hand to brush away the long golden bangs from his face. The touch brought to mind an odd weightless feeling, like a burden lifted from his shoulders. It dawned on the man that the sudden light sensation was caused by the absence of his crown. He had chosen to leave it behind with the rest of his things on impulse. He had tossed the golden things aside carelessly onto his bed and without a second thought, had departed from his rooms.

Only a half-formed idea had spurred him on as he crossed the wide expanse of the Great House. Had someone who had his ear come before him, it would have only been too easy to dissuade him from going further. He would have liked to say that nothing would have kept him from his half-baked goal; to boast that no one could have stopped him. But as he stood there, thinking over his actions and the tenuous want that had prompted his flight, he knew that the mere presence of another would have been enough to distract him.

A deep breath cleared his mind, leaving only the flimsy need that had incited him as he'd removed his purple cloak. The color had felt wrong. He hadn't known why until he had begun to imagine a more pleasing shade of dark magenta. The thought of that innocent color had created an itch within him, underneath his skin. He had known as the cloak slipped from his fingers that nothing would have been able to satisfy the burn inside him. Slipping off a golden armband, he had scoffed at himself; denied the need. But as he had tossed his crown, an epiphany had struck him. A question had sparked in his mind, a shadow of desire: _Why not?_

The man opened his eyes, resolved, and entered the servant chamber, his sight easily became accustomed to the little light from the less frequent torches. Quietly, he walked down the room, nodding his head to the confused guard sitting in the corner on duty who immediately went down in a bow. Without acknowledgment, he swept past him and into the unlit inner chamber where a multitude of sleeping bodies lay. The guard did not object to his entrance. He had not expected him to. He passed several prone persons, his eyes never straying from his goal. His impulsiveness had led him here, continuing to fuel his actions. Not for a single moment longer would he continue to resist.

When he finally came to a stop, he looked down at the sleeping figure on the mat, taking in the small being laying on it. The boy lying on his side appeared young though the man knew otherwise. Beyond the soft features were the beginnings of a young man though one had to look quite hard to see it. The boy's brown skin had paled from the time spent out of the sun, within the palace's protection from the golden disk god. Curly blonde bangs fluttered softly with the servant's every breath.

With one careful glance to the figure's sleeping neighbors, the man knelt over him, trapping the boy's lower body between his legs. He removed the golden pyramid from his neck and placed it carefully above the sleeping boy. The Eye of Horus faced them, watching with its still eye, and the shadows around it curled curiously; the gold glinted eerily. The man ignored the object for now and he gently moved the boy onto his back, brushing those soft bangs away from the round face. The man stretched his muscled body over him, bracing his elbows on either side of that dark curly-haired head. He settled comfortably above the boy, his larger form easily dwarfing the smaller body. A rare smirk pulled at the corner of his thin lips and he leaned his head down to nudge his nose through the deep, maroon hair. He placed a kiss on that gentle head before lowering himself to the boy's eye level.

Delicately, he pressed their noses together, nudging the other, tracing its shape. He pressed a kiss to a cheekbone, to the lid of the boy's left eye, to the small bump of his chin. Unhurried, the man touched his lips to various spots on the small face. The boy murmured in his sleep and the man paused, waiting. The smaller body shifted only slightly and settled; the man pursued the soft skin with his lips once more.

“Heba,” the man whispered against the other's skin, leaving a trail of quick kisses from the small nose to the soft cheek, to the rounded jaw, to the tip of his chin. He nipped at the chin before resuming his travel down to the slim neck, pausing there to bite at the skin that reminded the man of a field of reeds at sunset, tawny, yellowish-brown. So smooth and supple. A quiet groan burned in his throat and he lapped at the skin, dragging his rough tongue over that fluttering pulse.

Heba whimpered beneath the man, eyes lazily opening, face filled with confusion. A breath left him, voice muffled with the groggy tendrils of rest.

“Wha –”

“Shhh,” the man hushed the boy beneath him as he continued to lick at the delectable neck, tasting the one beneath him.

The boy gasped, his magenta eyes snapping open in fear. He squirmed, his immediate instinct to get away when the man gripped his arms harshly to still him. “Do you think it wise to deny me, Heba?” His baritone was low and dangerous, hold unyielding like stone. He lifted his head to narrow his red eyes at the boy.

Heba instantly stopped his movement, relief rushing through his small body at the sight of the man. His relief was short-lived as he tensed soon after, his round face puckering into a frown of apprehension.

“My pharaoh,” he murmured breathlessly, puzzlement clear in his eyes.

“Do you see a crown on my head?” the man asked rhetorically, keeping his voice low so only the small one underneath him could hear. “For tonight,” he continued, voice becoming rough with desire, “you may call me Atemu, little one. I suggest you keep your voice quiet. You wouldn't want to wake the entire room, now would you?”

Then, without warning, the current King of Upper and Lower Khemet pressed their mouths together in a fervent kiss. He moved roughly against the other, lips dragging, teeth catching on the tender skin. His blood boiled in his veins with the amount of consuming lust he felt for Heba. He wanted nothing more than to posses the small body, to take him wildly and make him scream to the gods for release. The fire in his chest would not be sated until he did so, that much he knew for sure. Although, tonight he would be quiet, tonight he would only ease the ache; there was always tomorrow to get what he needed.

Heba did not struggle and, for that, Atemu was grateful. He would not have to force himself on the servant; the mere thought of having to was tedious and nettlesome. The fact that he was the pharaoh and Heba was only a servant mattered nothing to him; he chose to ignore the niggling truth that Heba could not protest even if the boy had wanted to. The small mouth parted for him and the king licked his way inside. He tasted something akin to sleep, something uniquely Heba, and the remnants of figs. He swirled his tongue around the other, inviting it to dance languidly against his own. Heba's breath came faster now and he licked the ridged roof of that sweet mouth, earning a delightful shudder in return.

Trembling hands touched Atemu's shoulders tentatively and Atemu couldn't help but snort a laugh into the kiss. He pulled away to grin at the startled boy using one hand to press one of Heba's to his shoulder. The boy stared at him with wide, frightened violet eyes.

“You have my permission to touch me, young one,” Atemu muttered huskily and the fear vanished from those gentle orbs. He dove in for a second, breathtaking kiss before moving back to that delicious neck. He sucked at the juncture where neck met collar bone and smiled when Heba's arms wrapped about the king's shoulders without hesitation. Those thin fingers splayed across his back, hungrily absorbing to memory the shapes and muscles they dragged over. Atemu's hands clenched at the warm sparks of excitement they elicited, a deeply satisfied growl rumbling low in his throat.

He bit the neck sharply and Heba clutched at him in surprise and pain, a small lament leaving his lips. Atemu licked the offense away before placing a tender kiss on the spot. Heba trembled, shifting restlessly on the mat as Atemu moved lower, leaving small kisses in his wake.

Heba jolted when those teasing lips found his left nipple. He shivered as the other teased it into hardness with only his tongue. Each flick was an electric shock that went directly to his interested penis. He was half-hard and aching. Sleep still clung to his thoughts, but his body was more than awake. Awake and wanting and begging for the pharaoh to touch him and use him and take him.

“Atemu!” the cry came out choked and low. Heba did not want his fellow workers to wake and see this. He would become the biggest piece of gossip since the time the king had thrown out a naked princess of a neighboring kingdom from his very rooms.

Merciless and cold, the pharaoh had led the struggling and shrieking girl with a tight grip on her bicep. Her indignant shrieks had drawn a crowd and several guards who froze, unsure what action to take as their leader tossed the girl to the ground before them before whipping the clothes in his other hand at her naked, sobbing form.

The whole palace had been alive with the rumors that resulted. Rumors that ranged from the girl being bad in bed to the king being impotent. The latter had been whispered with much care and only among the envious upper class. No servant would be caught dead insulting the king. For if they had, they would have surely been _made_ dead.

Heba himself had bowed out of (or rather, fled) the throne room when he'd heard a particularly stupid ambassador “quietly” make the remark with the king seated only cubits away. Heba had just barely made it out the door when the pharaoh's terrifying bark of laughter echoed after him. The screams that followed had been hint enough to the ambassador's fate.

Gasping, Heba realized that impotent, the king definitely was _not,_ as he could _feel_ the man's hard erection nudging insistently against his thigh. Bravely removing an arm from the pharaoh above him, Heba reached down and grasped at the sturdy length through Atemu's _shendyt_ , working it teasingly. The pharaoh moaned appreciatively at Heba's action and bit down on the dusky nipple. Heba winced, clenching his teeth harshly to keep in his pained shout. Atemu licked the throbbing nub apologetically before kissing his way to the next one. He sucked on it and Heba struggled to keep in his pleased sounds. He pulled the other hand from Atemu's back to grasp at his mouth in an attempt to keep those noises in.

Heba worked the hand on Atemu's penis, lightly caressing it through the cloth, amazed at the large feel of it. He felt dizzy with delight at the thought of it all for himself. He almost couldn't wait to get it inside him. Atemu abandoned his nipple to kiss down Heba's side, biting feverishly at the skin surrounding his ribs. Heba drew his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down when Atemu's hands came into play. The fingers teased and tickled his sides, feeling, memorizing the paths they took. Atemu had reached his belly. He licked and nibbled, marking the pliant flesh, his hands coming up to pinch Heba's hardened nipples, fingertips tracing circles around them.

Atemu's tongue found Heba's belly button and dipped into it, causing the boy to arch into the playful appendage, mouth stretched into a silent gasp.

“Ah … Atemu,” Heba moaned, biting down on his lip once more.

Atemu shuffled lower and Heba's hand could no longer reach the hard member. He brought his hand up to clench into his dark, mauve locks in an attempt to ground himself from the assault. Atemu's hands disappeared from his chest. Heba's mouth went dry as Atemu ridded him from his loincloth, hands coming to caress his naked hips in lazy strokes.

“I was foolish to deny myself this long,” Atemu breathed raggedly. He slid his hands down the slender legs, pausing at Heba's knees. “I must have done something really good in a past life to deserve this,” he whispered hoarsely before parting the legs to survey his prize in the dim light of the torches that poured in from the doorway along the moon's rays cast into the room from the high windows above them.

The room was already warm with the heat of the bodies around them; the pharaoh only grew hotter with the pulsing, rushing flow of his blood. His cock throbbed and ached and he breathed in the humid air to calm the raging fire inside him. It helped little; his longing would not be appeased by mere deep breaths.

Atemu stared hungrily at the light golden skin, his gaze examining Heba's twitching penis, his tense sack, his shaking thighs, and the rosy, puckered hole that called for Atemu to own. His cock strained excitedly at the thought and he ran his fingers down the insides of those oh-so-soft, trembling thighs. He stroked the tender skin before coming back to Heba's knees. Pushing them further apart, the king leaned in, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses from Heba's knee to the inside of his thigh, bypassing the weeping erection to the other thigh.

Heba whimpered and he bit the flesh there, causing the small boy to jerk, legs kicking beside Atemu. He sucked at the spot aggressively, and nibbled the bruise he'd created. Heba sobbed quietly before him and Atemu chuckled darkly.

“If you're crying already, then you will not be able to handle what's to come,” he warned, managing to sound starved and severe at the same time. The younger boy removed his hand from his mouth to speak, his voice a staggering of gasps and filled with need.

“Give it to me,” Heba begged.

Atemu hooked his arms around the parted thighs and dragged the lithe body down to meet him in a promising thrust. Heba gasped and slapped both hands over his mouth to muffle a moan, his amethyst-colored eyes glazed over with want. Atemu could see the pleas Heba held in his gaze, a question to fulfill his deepest wish. Atemu rubbed their pelvises together and Heba's hands fell from his mouth. The boy reached for him and Atemu met him halfway, yanking him forth by his biceps and wrapping his arms around his hot little torso. Heba threw his own arms around Atemu's warm neck, pulling the man into a beseeching kiss.

Atemu laid them back on the mat, retrieving one hand to quickly dispose of his kilt. He groaned when their bare skin met and he moved against the other, bringing their hard, weeping cocks flush close. Heba writhed against him and Atemu rocked his hips into the smaller being. Bringing his lips to the boy's earlobe, Atemu captured it into his mouth and sucked as his hands groped at the boy's back. Heba's breath hitched and the boy moved his hips faster, desperate for release.

Atemu dragged his teeth around the shell of Heba's ear, letting go to speak sultrily, “Do you want me, little Heba? Do you want my large rod inside you?”

“Gods, yes,” Heba moaned.

“How badly do you want me?” Atemu taunted, “Tell me with your sweet little mouth how badly you want me to take you.”

“Oh, Atemu, _please,_ my pharaoh, I need you. I c-can't stand it … take me. Please _take me!”_ Heba's voice was high with dire need, his hips thrusting frantically against the king's. Atemu pressed his hand against Heba's gasping mouth and the boy took his fingers at once. He sucked quickly, letting his saliva coat them generously as they continued to glide their lower bodies against one another, their skin beginning to sweat from the heat.

Atemu pulled away reluctantly and Heba let go of his fingers, saliva trailing from his lips. Atemu hooked Heba's right leg under one arm, drawing it out of the way, using his knee to keep the other from impeding his actions. He prodded a dripping finger against Heba's asshole and shoved it in without warning.

Heba bit his lip anxiously, one hand coming to pull his other leg further, the other coming to stroke himself. Atemu licked his lips at the sight of Heba pleasuring himself, slim digits caressing the hard flesh, and inserted a second finger, thrusting them, desperate to loosen the hole he ached to plow into. Heba showed no sign of discomfort, face twisted with ecstasy, tears clinging to his lashes; the boy moaned and continued to stroke himself. Atemu absently wondered how often the other had done this to feel no pain. The thought left his mind when Heba squeezed against his fingers in an effort to hurry him up. Atemu scissored his fingers before adding the third, stretching the anus as far as he could.

Heba arched and uttered nonsense encouragement as he met the moving fingers. Atemu withdrew his hand and dropped the leg. He entwined his wet fingers into Heba's hair and pulled the boy's head forward and down, angling his hips upwards to that sweet mouth. Heba understood his silent order and engulfed Atemu's thick length with his mouth, sucking and licking and coating the furiously reddened member with his saliva.

“Good, little one,” Atemu praised, shoving into the gorgeous mouth enveloping his dick. He heard Heba gag, feeling a slight thrill at the sound and moved back to shove in again, earning another choked sound. Atemu purred in contentment as Heba continued his ministrations without objection. Burying another hand into Heba's downy hair, he yanked the boy forth and buried himself completely into the wet mouth, moaning as Heba forced himself to endure.

With a roll of his hips, Atemu decided he was sufficiently wet, and pulled Heba away dragging him up into a hard kiss as the boy struggled to gain breath. He could smell himself on Heba, and possessive, carnal satisfaction surged through him. The heady feeling turned his kiss even harsher, and Atemu loved every bit of the sloppy, wet, and bruising goodness.

Keeping their mouths connected, Atemu laid them back against the mat. Removing his hands from Heba's hair, he braced himself against the mat. He quickly placed himself at the entrance of Heba's stretched asshole and pushed in until he could go no more. Heba was sobbing again, whimpering into his mouth, these small wanton sounds that made Atemu's entire body tighten with arousal. He growled into the kiss, like a beast. The gnawing sensation consuming him was like blood-lust when he had raged on the battlefield, decapitating rebels with his blade; he had never felt more powerful. His mind was turning foggy, the aggression within him rising.

Unaware of any danger, Heba pulled away to pepper panting kisses across his pharaoh's jaw and down his neck. He worshiped the god above him, inside him. Lavishing the man with adoring kisses, he jerked his hips impatiently, squeezing Atemu's throbbing length inside of him. Indeed, the pharaoh was _anything_ but impotent.

“My pharaoh,” he muttered dazedly, “you're so _big._ So much. Please move,” he begged, “please go on!”

With Heba's voice, Atemu gradually came back to himself and he nipped at Heba's cheekbone in reassurance. He had almost lost himself to the ferocious feeling coursing in his veins. Clearing his head, he gave a short thrust, much to the other's dismay. Atemu was teasing him. Heba realized this and bit at Atemu's jaw in irritation, too distracted to care that he had harmed the living Horus.

“Atemu,” he whined, oblivious to his king's immense surprise. Heba had dared to bite him. The diminutive pain had been such a surprise to the pharaoh, that he could only brush the slight away to think about later.

Atemu huffed and began to move. He moved slow, tortuously slow. Heba could feel every bit of the pharaoh's thick organ and he wrapped his arms around his god, pulling him impossibly closer. They moved sensuously, their heated bodies creating titillating friction. Heba shuddered in the man's arms, dimly becoming aware that he was engaging Khemet's great leader in an act he could never have hoped for in a million years. An act that may never come again. An act that he'd never committed before this night.

And here Heba was, in the arms of the most powerful man he knew of, touching him so intimately without consequences, trapped by his gorgeous body and relishing in their joining. He could scarcely believe it; he was _touching_ the _king,_ being taken by the pharaoh of Khemet. Maybe he was dreaming. Heba had to be dreaming. The king began to kiss his neck and he drew in a ragged breath. Heba was almost sure that he was dreaming. He could not believe that the pharaoh had come to him, was touching _him._ Heba felt more than unworthy, but selfishly didn't care to stop. He would take all his god gave him without guilt, without worry of tomorrow.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” Atemu whispered hotly in his ear, his voice uneven and Heba felt more tears escape his eyes. How could this be real? How could he, a simple servant in the palace, have captured the most powerful man in the world? How could he have been so lucky? The disbelief and heaviness of the affair hit Heba hard as Atemu moved lewdly against him. The king's royal skin brushed against his own; there was a _god_ in his bed.

“My king,” Heba wept, “oh, my king –”

“Shhh,” Atemu hushed him, joining their lips once more. He shifted, moving one hand to Heba's hip. His pace began to pick up, the coil of his lust tightening in his loins. His hand squeezed at Heba's hip, dragging down to the tender thigh, gripping him. Heba felt so good, so tight, so _perfect._ He kissed the boy hungrily, his mouth dry and thirsty for more. Heba moaned and cried into his mouth with each thrust. Atemu bit the plump bottom lip, obsessed with the feeling of the boy's flesh between his teeth, obsessed with the gasping, keening sounds that left Heba's mouth. He sucked on the lip, dragging the tip of his tongue over it. He let go, gazing down at the comely, crying mess below him.

“How does it feel?” the pharaoh mocked quietly, “knowing that it's your king who's inside you?” He punctuated his words with a vicious thrust. “...to have a _god_ take you?” He threaded the hand supporting himself into Heba's hair and pulled him into a forceful kiss, eliciting a sinful moan from the small boy. He devoured the sound like a man possessed with a need to take everything Heba gave. Like a god accepting an offering. He savored the boy's lips, his groans, the feel of his body clamped tight around him as he continued to drive into the welcoming heat.

“You're _beautiful,_ Heba,” growled the king. He bit his way down to the boy's neck, nuzzling the skin, his hips snapping forth even faster. He released Heba's thigh and reached between their bodies, taking the neglected penis of the smaller boy and squeezing before he began to move his hand. He smeared the precum down the boy's member, slicking the way as he rolled his wrist. Below him, Heba couldn't catch his breath. He gasped and arched, losing the little control he had over his body to the amazing stimulus his king provided.

“Atemu,” Heba cried, his pleasure mounting, ready to peak, “Oh, my king!”

“Come for me now, little one,” the king breathed, his crimson eyes overcome with lust, the thumb of his hand sweeping over the head of Heba's cock. _“Come,”_ he commanded.

And Heba came with a choked sob, his seed spurting onto his stomach, his entire body wracked with bliss. Atemu pounded into Heba's body, seeking his own end. He watched with relish as Heba's face contorted, eyes squeezing shut, mouth falling open with pure elation. The king bit his lip when the muscles around his penis spasmed and clenched around him.

With a rasping growl, he moved back, placing both hands on Heba's hips, pounding into the glorious heat. He could feel his release coming and he moved even faster. Gazing down at Heba's spent, beautiful body, he took in every bite, every forming bruise. The king lifted his gaze to see Heba looking up at him with glazed, tearful violet eyes and he could hold on no longer.

The pharaoh of Khemet tipped over the edge at the sight of those divine eyes and headlong into pleasure's welcoming arms. He barely caught himself before he collapsed onto the small, gasping boy. He breathed deeply, trying to steady himself. He didn't know when he closed his eyes, but Atemu opened them to see a worn-out Heba, his chest heaving, body shivering. Atemu nuzzled Heba's jaw, nosing at the boy's sweaty, tender skin.

Heba turned his sleepy eyes on him and Atemu kissed him gently. Bewilderment came upon those purple irises and Atemu chuckled.

“Forgive me if I hurt you, little one,” he murmured, “I lost myself in the moment.” He kissed Heba again and the boy shyly kissed back.

“M-my king,” Heba stuttered, a blush coming to his cheeks, reddening further when he suddenly became very aware that they were surrounded by sleeping palace staff.

Atemu found the sight quite amusing. He smiled charmingly.

“You may call me Atemu, sweet Heba.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how I did! I spent two entire weeks freaking out about this and editing it. Throw me a bone here. (And I may be encouraged to post my other YGO fics.)
> 
> Follow me on twitter [@nanadanonini](https://twitter.com/nanadanonini)! I post writing updates, life tidbits, line excerpts, and more! It's also great to let y'all know if I'm delaying a chapter update! You can also interact with me. ♡


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